


Battle Fatigue

by messedupstargazer



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Bi-Napoleon, Drowning, First Kiss, I know Napoleon has the electric chair scene but, Illya Whump, Illya has problems just like Napoleon, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Napoleon has seen some shit, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World War II, Slight medical procedure, TW Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:15:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messedupstargazer/pseuds/messedupstargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What?”  Illya remarked dryly.  “No witty quip about how I walk or talk?  You're losing your edge, Cowboy.”</p><p>But Napoleon didn’t rise to the bait.  He simply stared at Illya, his face now unreadable.  Illya ignored him as he filled a glass with water from the bathroom tap.  He would've preferred water from a bottle but, as he had none in his room at the moment and going downstairs was out of the question, he simply used the bathroom sink.  No sooner had he put the glass to his lips before his hand seized and the glass fell to the floor, shattering but he hardly noticed.  Like some living nightmare, he was back on that boat in Italy, sinking into the river, drowning, drowning, drowning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Fatigue

Illya couldn’t breathe. The water was filling his lungs, the world around him tinting black as he sank deep, deep down into the river, the knowledge that there was no one coming for him made his chest tighter than the fact that he was drowning. Something about that knowledge seemed off. He couldn’t put his finger on it because he was pretty sure he was dying but he knew something was wrong. If he’d only had more time, maybe he could've figured it out.

Illya came awake gasping for air. The oxygen in the air wasn’t getting to his lungs and he couldn’t figure out why. He gulped in air, trying to get some kind of oxygen flowing within him but something was stopping him. He was thankful his partners weren't in the room. He didn’t want them suffering from this suffocation. He only wished he could warn them of the threat they clearly faced. Whatever mistake he made, he didn’t want his partners to suffer for it. Gaby had been strong for so long and it would hurt his heart to see her fall due to his mistake and Napoleon… Napoleon had suffered enough. But it seemed the fates were against him as Napoleon rushed into the room. For some reason, whatever was causing Illya's inability to breathe was not affecting Napoleon. Illya realized he must have been poisoned.

Napoleon ran to him, and something akin to agonized recognition was in his eyes. Napoleon's eyes had always been so expressive for a spy. Illya wanted to tease him about it but the words got lost without oxygen.

“Peril, everything will be all right.” Napoleon was saying. “It’s all right, there’s enough air in the room, you haven't been poisoned. You can breathe.”

Didn’t Napoleon understand that Illya was dying? But, if he had to admit to himself- no. He wasn’t going to go there. Illya did not like even thinking about anything that would upset the tentative partnership that he, Gaby and Napoleon had started.

“Breathe like me.” Napoleon ordered, his voice soft yet firm. “Inhale for seven seconds, exhale for eleven.”

Napoleon must have been supernatural, or even blessed by an angel in that moment, because when he tried to copy the American’s breathing, a little bit of air entered his starved lungs.

“There we go, Peril.” Napoleon's smile was gentle and his eyes held a small bit of relief. “Just breathe, everything’s under control. I promise nothing to will happen to you. Everything will be all right. Just focus on your breathing. Seven in and eleven out.”

It took several moments, but the breathing technique and Napoleon's soft voice finally calmed Illya down to where he could think, exhausted as he may be. Napoleon's smile hadn't changed, although now Napoleon's eyes simply held relief, no trace of worry was in them. It was a nice look for the American.

“Why thank you, Peril.” Illya went rigid as he realized that he had accidentally spoken aloud. “Don’t worry, I'll chalk it up to the fact that you're coming off from an episode of panic.”

“I am not little woman trapped in bed.” Illya said, his throat hoarse.

Napoleon raised an eyebrow. In order to escape the calm, collected gaze of his American partner, he got up to get himself a glass of water. Napoleon simply watched him go.

“What?” Illya remarked dryly. “No witty quip about how I walk or talk? You're losing your edge, Cowboy.”

But Napoleon didn’t rise to the bait. He simply stared at Illya, his face now unreadable. Illya ignored him as he filled a glass with water from the bathroom tap. He would've preferred water from a bottle but, as he had none in his room at the moment and going downstairs was out of the question, he simply used the bathroom sink. No sooner had he put the glass to his lips before his hand seized and the glass fell to the floor, shattering but he hardly noticed. Like some living nightmare, he was back on that boat in Italy, sinking into the river, drowning, drowning, drowning.

Something brought him back to reality. Napoleon's arms had wrapped around him, squeezing distantly. In a moment, Illya had forgotten himself and he leaned into the American’s touch, unconscious of the fact that they were both men, and if they were caught, death would be a sweeter touch. Illya's breathing was ragged and he didn’t sound like himself. He thought it was possible for his soul to step out of his skin to watch the scene around him.

“Come on back, Illya.” Napoleon said. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

It was Napoleon's use of his first name that startled him back firmly into his own body. Napoleon hardly ever used his first name, under any circumstances. Illya stared into Napoleon's eyes, now shining with an emotion Illya couldn’t identify.

“I'm here.” Illya managed to say.

Napoleon nodded and pulled back. Illya missed the warmth of the American’s touch from the moment the grip loosened, and his arms told a different story about the strength Napoleon used to keep him aloft. Napoleon then grabbed his hands, his trembling hands, and led him away from the broken glass on the floor. Illya hadn't even noticed the glass that had been embedded in his own foot, but now that he had, pain started to flit through his consciousness. Napoleon sat him down on the couch and got some tweezers, along with the first aid kit Gaby made both boys carry on them. Giving them each a first aid kit made her feel safer in sending them on missions without her.

Napoleon said nothing as he removed the glass shards from Illya's foot, bandaging the cuts as he did so. Once he finished, he merely swept up the broken glass with a magazine and disposed of it as best as he could. Then he sat down beside Illya, who hadn't moved during the entire thing.

Illya was only capable of one word at the moment. “How?”

“I was in the second world war.” Napoleon said softly, his voice going into the same tone he used whenever he talked about the war. “I've seen my fair share of battle fatigue. I picked up on a few tips the medics would use to talk my companions out of the panic it causes.”

“Have never been in battle.” Illya tried, his exhausted mind trying to connect the dots and failing.

“I figured it out when you couldn’t drink water.” Napoleon's voice had changed. “When you were in the river, your body was in a battle for survival. It was a battle it lost." There was no teasing, no excitement, no passion in Napoleon's voice. He was simply stating a fact.

Illya nodded, almost thanking Napoleon for the tone. Illya did not like emotions. They were messy and hard to figure out. But facts were facts. That was all Illya could handle right now.

“So your body is treating that memory like the memory of a war.” Napoleon whispered, his tone straying into territory Illya had never been in. KGB agents, while some had served, never discussed the war. While they had won, it was not a pleasant memory for Russia.

Even though Illya was getting lost in his own thoughts, Napoleon was still talking.

“Whether or not you fought in a literal battle, your body doesn’t quite know that. It’s treating water like an enemy that needs to be destroyed so you can forget. But you can't forget. That memory will never leave you.”

Napoleon turned to face Illya with soft features and knowing eyes.

“It’s not about trying to forget it. It’s about learning to cope with it.”

“I did not know you were a doctor.” Illya said, the words coming out of his mouth without his permission.

But it seemed to be a good thing. Napoleon broke into a small laugh with a big smile.

“Try being in the American army, Peril.” Napoleon teased lightheartedly. “They don’t care about what you do as long as you can pretend you can do it.”

Illya managed a small smile before it turned into a yawn that he hid, half-successfully.

“Do you want me to stay and sit with you?” Napoleon asked. “I won't mention it in the morning.”

Illya raised an eyebrow.

“Scout’s honor.” Napoleon held up three fingers with his thumb holding down his pinky.

“You were never Scout.” Illya scoffed lightly. “Scouts do not steal.”

“Maybe not now.” Napoleon with a sly smirk, falling quickly into the banter that they had become used to but soon after silence prevailed.

Napoleon's gentle breathing and Illya's own exhaustion made it almost impossible to keep his eyes open. Even though Illya was taller, he sagged over onto Napoleon's shoulder. As sleep descended around him, he hoped the American wouldn’t tease him with this in the morning.

When Illya woke for the second time that night, the sun was just coming up, he was lying on a rather firm but comfortable pillow and someone’s fingers were running through his hair. He changed nothing about his breathing or position because he couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten into this situation. Memory came back like a flo- and he realized it was Napoleon he was lying on top of. They must have shifted into a lying down position during the night. Illya burned with embarrassment but he knew he showed no outward response. Napoleon obviously still thought he was asleep because the fingers hadn't stopped, which Illya was quite thankful for it felt quite wonderful, and Napoleon's other arm was wrapped around Illya's back. Sleep was at the edge of his consciousness, beckoning him back under until Napoleon kissed his hair. Illya’s eyes flew wide open as he pulled back, and Napoleon stared at him, defiance and fear mixing within his beau- no, he cannot think like that. He had a partnership to maintain.

“You stayed?” Not the question he meant to ask but it seemed to relax Napoleon so he counted that as something to be gained.

“I was afraid you'd have another nightmare.” Napoleon answered, his voice slightly breathy but strong. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Illya's heart started beating faster and he wasn’t sure why. “Thank you, Cowboy but I think I no longer need your services so you can go.”

“I'll need you to get off me first.” Napoleon said dryly, for some reason pain in his eyes.

Illya looked down and saw that was basically sitting on Napoleon's waist. Illya blushed and pushed himself off of Napoleon and the sofa. Napoleon moved meticulously as stood up, not mentioning but clearly seeing Illya's burning blush.

Napoleon opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, closed it, before deciding on what he wanted to say.

“We’ve got a long flight ahead of us so we best get packing.”

“I am already packed.” Illya said, wanting Napoleon to stay. “I packed last night.”

“Well, I'm not.” Napoleon said, inching towards the door. “I was entertaining a friend and the meeting went a little late.”

“Do not lie to me.” Illya snapped and Napoleon stopped in his tracks. “You are not dressed in a robe or in pajamas, as is what you would have thrown on if you came running as you would have me think. Instead, you're dressed in your suit pants and undershirt, as if you took off your vest and jacket but had not yet retired for the night. You were alone, most likely packing as you can never keep your hands unoccupied for long.”

Napoleon had the good sense to change his body language to that of someone caught in a lie.

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget you're a spy, Peril.” Napoleon flushed.

“Why did you lie to me?” Illya asked, slightly hurt that Napoleon thought it necessary to lie.

“Peril, you and I are different kinds of men.” Napoleon said.

“I am not an ‘it’, Cowboy.” Illya snapped.

“That’s not what I meant.” Napoleon held up his hands in defense. “I meant, that you are- you are- Peril, you're simply a different person than I am. And I should've respected that.”

Napoleon turned to leave.

“Don’t.” Illya said before he could stop himself. Napoleon turned to him suspiciously. “You helped me last night. You did not need to. I don’t think respect is the issue.”

Napoleon relaxed slightly. “Well, then, Master Spy, what do you think it is?”

Illya considered Napoleon and himself. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this, he was going to ruin this and he liked UNCLE much better than the KGB, but Illya was no coward. While he may not quite understand his feelings, he was not one to hide from them. At least, not in this moment.

“You're running away because you kissed me.” Illya deduced.

“Your hair.” Napoleon snapped and then winced because that didn’t sound much better.

“And you think I am disgusted.” Illya finished.

Napoleon frowned. “Isn't- something like that illegal in Russia?”

Illya nodded. “Da. But that does not mean that every citizen believes it should be so.”

Napoleon walked over to him.

“And do you?” Napoleon asked, his voice sounding breathless.

“I do not know what to think.” Illya answered honestly. Napoleon looked satisfied. “I am not disgusted by you but I know that if my countrymen knew they would not accept me back.”

“Just for working with me?” Napoleon asked.

“For knowing and not saying anything.” Illya confirmed.

Napoleon nodded. “What are you going to do?”

Illya thought. “I will not reveal your secret, Cowboy.”

Napoleon nodded and took a small step further. “Is that all?”

Illya shuddered involuntarily. Napoleon jumped back, looking betrayed. Illya almost missed his closeness.

“That was not about that.” Illya said suddenly, trying to win back his partner’s trust. “I am simply not used to such… closeness.”

“Aren't you and Gaby close?” Napoleon asked, frowning.

“Nyet.” Illya shook his head. “She and I were not… compatible.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

“She did not desire a romantic connection after what happened in Istanbul.” Illya admitted.

“That wasn’t your fault.” Napoleon said. “You did the right thing.”

“She knew that.” Illya said. “She said that my heart would never belong to her.”

Napoleon then burst into laughter. Illya groaned and blushed. “I should not have told you.”

“No, no, please, Peril, that’s not why I'm laughing.” Napoleon tried. Illya relented. “I'm laughing because that’s what she said to me when I tried to flirt with her.”

Illya felt a sudden surge of jealousy flow through his veins. “You flirted with Gaby?”

“Only for fun.” Napoleon sighed, finally calming down. “She knew I would never try anything serious, whether she was your woman or not.”

The jealousy abated, and Illya was suddenly sure why. He wasn’t jealous of Napoleon taking Gaby.

“But usually it’s for missions.” Napoleon added, oblivious to Illya's internal struggle. “When I try flirting with her off the clock, she has two reactions. If she’s feeling playful, she'll flirt back. If she’s not, she'll just say my heart will never belong to her. I never realized she said it to you.”

Suddenly Illya's heartbeat was thudding in his ears and the air seemed to take on a tension he had never experienced. His breath was coming in short gasps, and Napoleon went back into being a helper.

“Peril?” Napoleon asked, his voice soft.

Never in his life had he thought he would say something the American said often. He thought he would be above such things.

“Screw this.”

Illya grabbed Napoleon's shirt and pulled him into a rough kiss. Napoleon was shocked but responsive. Napoleon tasted like scotch and truffles, both no doubt part of his dinner last night, but Illya couldn’t have cared less. It was inexperienced, wet, and with a lot of teeth, but Illya loved every second of it. He would never admit to making a small, indignant sound when Napoleon pulled away.

“You know you're a terrible kisser.” Napoleon whispered.

Affronted, Illya said, “I have not had all the experience you had Cowboy.”

Napoleon chuckled. “I could teach you if you want.”

It dawned on Illya exactly what that meant but he was still slightly angry. “Maybe I learn from someone else.”

It was Napoleon's turn to be offended. “Peril.”

“Or maybe use you as practice.” Illya flashed him a small smile.

Napoleon laughed and winked. “I could give you some help right now.”

Napoleon drew him close but a question popped into his mind, something he had meant to ask last night, and he stopped Napoleon.

“How did you know I needed help?” Illya asked.

“Well, it’s easy.” Napoleon said. “You don’t lead with your teeth, that’s not pleasant, you want to use your lips more.”

“Nyet, I did not mean that.” Illya blushed slightly. “I know what went wrong there. I meant last night. You did not tell me how you knew I needed help.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “You haven't figured it out yet? You must still be very tired.”

Illya frowned and then almost smacked himself it was so obvious. “Where is it?”

“If I tell you, I won't know if you need help again.” Napoleon said, and Illya couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. He decided the American was doing both.

“If we do what we did last night, I don’t think I'll have that problem.” Illya admitted, trying to pass off his confession with an air of mischievousness.

Napoleon saw right through him. “I think that can be arranged. After all, what's the point of bugging you if I can be here to stop them before they start?”

Illya flushed. Napoleon pecked him on the lips.

“I can think of several different things your mouth can do besides talking about this.” Napoleon whispered.

Illya backed away, a pit forming in his stomach. “Am I just another one of your conquests? Do I only mean sex to you?”

Napoleon blanched. “No. No, not at all. I was just…”

“Just what?” Illya growled.

“Just trying to be sexy for you.” Napoleon admitted. “In my wildest dreams, I never thought my feelings would be returned and I may be a bit anxious to get started.”

“Feelings?” Illya asked.

“I want a romantic connection with you.” Napoleon said, rather bluntly.

Illya’s eyes went wide. According to everything the KGB had taught him about lying, Napoleon was telling the truth.

“I would like that too.” Illya managed to get out.

Napoleon smiled and leaned in.

“But I am… unexperienced in matters such as these.” Illya admitted.

“Men or courting in general?” Napoleon asked.

“I have courted women before but I don’t think this will be anything like that.” Illya said.

Napoleon snorted lightly. “I don’t think an American man such as myself can compare to Russian women.”

“Nyet.” Illya said. “Russian women much easier to court.”

Napoleon put a hand on his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Peril.”

“I did not say I didn’t like challenge.” Illya added and Napoleon smiled and leaned in again.

This time it was Illya's alarm clock ringing that stopped the kiss.

“We must leave or miss flight.” Illya said, his heart calming from the jarring noise.

“Don’t worry, Peril.” Napoleon grabbed Illya's suitcase and said with a wink, “I'm sure Waverly will give us a few days off after this long, exhausting mission.”

**Author's Note:**

> I stayed up til 6 in the morning to write this. I... regret nothing! Hopefully ya'll liked it. Any feedback is welcome!


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